


Better Unheard, Better Unsaid

by stellatundra



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 19:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19448080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellatundra/pseuds/stellatundra
Summary: Enjolras tries to tell Grantaire he has feelings for him. It could go better.





	Better Unheard, Better Unsaid

It’s a warm night, the streetlights just beginning to flicker on as the light dims. Enjolras finds Grantaire in the courtyard as he’d expected, grinding the end of a cigarette into the cobbles beneath his foot. It’s the least of his vices, and Enjolras gave up remarking on it months ago. Grantaire smiles as he sees Enjolras approach. It makes something tighten in his chest and he hopes to God that Courfeyrac was right in what he told him earlier, that Grantaire will welcome his advances with open arms. 

“Grantaire.”

“Enjolras.” There’s a mocking lilt to his voice that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. Enjolras runs his thumbs over the pads of his fingers, surprised to find himself much more nervous than he’s ever been before delivering a speech.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he begins. Grantaire frowns, almost like he’s sure Enjolras has come out here to criticise him. Enjolras doesn’t let it deter him. “I wanted to talk to you about my feelings towards you.” Grantaire cringes instantly.

“Please don’t.”

“But…”

“Look, I know how you feel and I just think some things are better left unsaid.”

“Oh.” The weight of the disappointment settling in his chest is alarming. “I apologise for introducing the subject, in that case.” Enjolras can hear the ice creeping into his voice. “I hope we can remain friends.” Grantaire scoffs at this.

“Are we friends? Better to remain ambivalent acquaintances who annoy each other, surely.” It’s a blow, that’s for certain. Enjolras is surprised he doesn’t reel back from it. 

“I knew you were a cynic, Grantaire, but I never thought you cruel.”

“This isn’t cruelty, darling, it’s self-preservation,” Grantaire drawls. There’s a tightness to his voice, a bitter flavour and Enjolras can’t imagine just how much Grantaire must despise him for him to react in this way to his confession. The throwaway endearment, twisted into jest, is like a barb to his heart, a bastardisation of all his hopes. This is why he’s never opened himself up to anything like this before. He feels a fool. Damn Courfeyrac. 

“You don’t need to worry. It’s not like I’m going to throw myself at you.”

“Oh, that much is abundantly clear,” Grantaire retorts, and that’s just brilliant, Enjolras thinks, now he’s mocking his inexperience and hesitant advances. Enjolras hates him in that moment, but he still wants him, still feels something inside his soul fluttering with longing for the man in front of him who has rejected him so comprehensively. He’s almost ashamed of himself. Hot, stinging tears of humiliation begin to prick at his eyes, and Enjolras turns away sharply, breathing in deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose. Not fast enough: Enjolras feels a warm hand on his shoulder. He shivers involuntarily, skin thrumming with desire. Grantaire pulls his hand away as if burned. 

“Does it upset you that much?” Grantaire asks. His voice is quieter now, gentler, having lost the mocking sting of a few moments ago. It’s almost worse. 

“Funnily enough, yes, Grantaire, me coming out here to tell you that I love you and you being a dick about it does upset me. Could you please just fuck off and leave me to get over it in peace?” he scrubs hastily at his eyes, furious with himself, with Grantaire, with Courfeyrac for giving him false hope.

He feels more than hears Grantaire go still behind him. 

“What?”

“What?” Enjolras echoes flatly. 

“You… you love me?” Grantaire asks softly. Enjolras feels his heart skip, just hearing the word low and hoarse from Grantaire’s lips. It was more than he’d meant to say, even if things had gone well. He’d planned on a gentle introduction of the existence of feelings and the possibility of them getting to know each other better, not to fling out words like love. Not that it makes it any less true. For reply, Enjolras inclines his head and hunches his shoulders, halfway between a nod and a shrug, hoping Grantaire will just leave so he can get on with pretending none of this ever happened. Then Grantaire’s hand is back on his shoulder, careful, a question in the curl of his fingers that Enjolras can’t answer. “Enjolras…” He can’t make out the tone over the blood rushing to his head. Is it questioning, pleading, pitying? Enjolras could barely stand his disdain; he thinks he might crumble completely if Grantaire starts pitying him. 

“I… just forget it. Please.” He draws himself up, tilts his chin. He turns to face Grantaire, bright eyed but blank-faced. Grantaire is closer than he thought, and in turning he finds himself practically chest to chest with him. He avoids eye contact, staring resolutely at a spot somewhere past Grantaire’s left ear. Grantaire grips him urgently by the shoulders. 

“I can’t. I can’t forget it.” There’s a fevered note to his voice. “Enjolras, I’ve been in love with you for years, I… I thought you knew. I thought you knew and you came out here to let me down gently. When I said I didn’t want to talk about your feelings for me, that’s what I thought, I didn’t think you meant… this.” Enjolras hears the words but they don’t make sense. Grantaire might as well be speaking another language. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think there was any possibility of you feeling the same way.”

“You…” Enjolras trails off, words deserting him entirely. He lets himself look at Grantaire, testing the truth of his words in his eyes. The cynical sneer is gone, like a mask ripped away to show the naked longing underneath. Grantaire reaches up to touch the side of his face with trembling fingers. Enjolras blinks at him, unable to keep up with the emotional about-faces of this conversation. And then Grantaire’s mouth is on his, soft but sure, questioning but not wavering. Enjolras kisses back, unsure in his skill but not his affections, pulling Grantaire into a tighter embrace. Grantaire’s breath is ragged when they pull away, his voice shaking with something a little like disbelief, a little like hope when he whispers, “Enjolras,” against his lips. 

Enjolras doesn’t say anything, just presses closer, kisses him again, and again, hoping that where words have failed them both so badly already, actions will speak true. Grantaire kisses back, clutches at him and Enjolras decides he likes this sort of wordless conversation better than any other. Later there will be words gasped against skin and whispered into the night, but for now, this is everything they need to say.


End file.
